Titanium
by whalefairyfandom12
Summary: WARNING EXTREME SPOILERS FOR THE MAZE RUNNER SERIES! A fiveshot of Newt's journey in The Death Cure, from the third trial to page 250, because "we're all bloody inspired." Rated T
1. Human

Just a Little Human

DISCLAIMER! All rights go to James Dashner and Christina Perri. MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE DEATH CURE!

_I can hold my breath. I can bite my tongue. I can fake a smile and force a laugh._

After Phase Three, Newt thought he'd about bloody had it with these shanks.

Not even the sight of Minho and Tommy alive and well could vanish the memories of Phase Three that haunted his footsteps like a vengeful ghost.

He was sure that nothing they could throw at him could be worse then what they'd already done to him-what he'd done to himself.

Unfortunately, WICKED had other plans.

The Rat Man's words resonated in his brain.

"The following people are NOT immune. Newt..."

_I can take so much. 'Til I've had enough. 'Cause I'm only human. And I bleed when I fall down._

He bit his lip, studying the floor.

Minho and Tommy looked as though the floor had dropped out from underneath their feet, but the truth was, he knew this was coming.

He could already feel it happening.

The itch.

The Flare.

He was becoming a bloody Crank.

The fact that the Rat Man had said it aloud solidified it, though, and banished any thoughts or hopes of denial.

He steadied himself. Breaking down again wasn't going to help anything, and he didn't want to put his friends through more klunk than he had to.

He folded his arms and forced a smile onto his face, glancing at Tommy.

"Tommy, slim yourself."

_I can turn it on. Be a good machine. I can hold the weight of the world if that's what you want._

"Slim myself?" the boy's tone was incredulous, but Newt kept his grin fastened to his face like glue. "That shank just said you're not immune to the Flare. How can you-"

Newt interrupted him.

"I'm not worried about the bloody Flare, man." Liar, he whispered internally. He was terrified. "I never thought I'd still be alive at this buggin' point-and living hasn't exactly been so great anyway."

He watched as Tommy forced a smile onto his face. "If you're cool with slowly going crazy and wanting to eat small children, then I guess we won't cry for you."

_And I'm only human. And I crash and I break down._

Newt nodded, the movement sharp, quick, and deliberate.

"Good that," he said hollowly, the grin disappearing from his face.

An empty feeling grasped him, one he hadn't felt since roughly half a year ago, the day he got his limp.

He was losing control again.

But what was the point of trying anymore?

He was a Crank.

_Your words in my head, knives in my heart, you build me up and then I fall apart. 'Cause I'm only human_.


	2. Shatter Me

Make Me Feel Alive and Shatter Me

Disclaimer! All rights go to James Dashner, Lindsey Stirling, and Lizzy Hale. Also, Fanfiction is glitching so I apologize if you can't tell what he song lyrics are.

I pirouette in the dark. I see the stars through me. Tired mechanical heart. Beat's till the song disappears.

Newt sat with his head in his hands, tears streaking his face.

The room was dark, and he held a pen, a pad of paper sitting on the table.

It was getting worse.

He was no shuckface. Newt was well aware that because he continued to think, and to bloody be himself, the Flare was progressing twice as fast it should've. But it didn't matter. He was going to die anyway. He might as well make sure his friends lived.

He glanced down at the note he'd scrawled.

Kill me. If you've ever been my friend, kill me.

If only clockwork could speak, I wouldn't be so alone. We'd burn every magnet and spring and spiral into the unknown.

He would rather die himself then die a lunatic that could hurt his friends.

He was terrified of what he'd become.

When people talked about heartbreak, Newt thought grimly. They bloody romanticized it. The real thing was worse. Much worse. A constriction that threatened to finish him long before any disease.

Pain ripped through his brain and he stifled a scream, shoving his fist in his mouth, a moan of agony emerging.

The Flare was growing.

He waited until the pain subsided, tearing the note from the pad and stuffing it in an envelope.

He was running out of time.

If I break the glass then I'll have to fly. There's no one to catch me if I take a dive.

Newt entered the conversation in time to hear the last words.

"Do about what?" he asked, desperately hoping that his voice didn't reveal that he'd been crying.

"Nothing, never mind-where'd you go?" Tommy asked, shooting Newt a quizzical look.

"I need to talk to you, Tommy. Just you. It'll only take a second."

"What's this crap?" Minho asked, scowling. It hurt to look at him, so Newt didn't.

"Just cut me some slack," he pleaded. "I need to give something to Tommy here. Tommy and no one else." He knew he was rambling, but he couldn't help it.

He ignored Minho's next words, following Tommy into the hallway.

After they had stepped away a couple of feet, Newt stopped and faced his friend, pulling out the envelope. "Stuff this in your pocket."

"What is it?"

"Just put the bloody thing in your pocket."

He watched as Tommy did, a dark look of pain and anguish filling Newt's eyes as he thought of what Tommy's reaction would be when he finally read the note.

"Now look me in the eyes." Newt snapped his fingers, the dark look lingering in his gaze.

"What is it?" The boy seemed scared, which Newt found slightly amusing. HE was the one turning into a bloodthirsty Crank and TOMMY was scared.

"You don't need to know right now. You can't know. But you have to make me a promise-and I'm not messing around here," Newt said quietly.

"What?"

"You swear to me that you won't read what's inside that bloody envelope until the time is right."

I'm scared of change, and the days stay the same. The world is spinning, but only in grey.

Tommy began to take the envelope out of his pocket. Panic flared through Newt and he grabbed his arm to stop him.

"When the time is right?" Tommy asked. "How will I-"

"You'll bloody know!" Newt answered, his cheeks flushing with agitation. Tommy was the only one he could trust. Newt would only fail again, and he couldn't ask Minho to kill him. "Now swear to me. Swear it!" His whole body seemed to tremble.

"Fine! I swear I won't read it until the time is right. I swear. But why-"

"Okay, then," Newt interrupted, relief washing over him. "Break your promise and I'll never forgive you." With that final remark Newt turned turned and walked back towards the weapon room.

All he could do was hope that Tommy would carry out his side of the deal.

Don't fail me. Please Tommy. Please, he pleaded silently.

If I break the glass then I'll have to fly. Someone make me feel alive and shatter me.


	3. Bleeding Out

Bleeding Out For You

If I owner TMR Newt would still be alive. Song credit to Imagine Dragons. Again, FF isn't working, and once it is I'll fix the lyrics! :)

When the day has come that I've lost my way around, and the seasons stop and hide beneath the ground. When the sky turns gray and everything is screaming, I will reach inside just to find my heart bleeding.

Shucking dark.

Shucking berg.

Shucking Flare.

Shucking-

He blinked rapidly several times in a vain attempt to clear his mind.

Complaining wasn't going to solve anything.

A little voice nudged the back of his mind. But what IS going to help? You're going insane, and complaining is the only thing you CAN do.

Newt set his jaw. "Snap out of it," he said aloud.

Being alone on a Berg with nothing to do gives a person quite a lot of time to think. Too much time to think, in fact. Interrupted by an infrequent sleeping schedule, occasional breaks for food, and the increasingly frequent headaches caused by the Flare, Newt was fairly certain that he had analyzed his personality enough to write a book. Or three.

He kicked his shoes off and stretched out on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

He tended to keep the lights off, because at least that way he couldn't accidentally look in a mirror.

Newt had already considered running away several times, but two things held him back.

He was afraid. No-he was terrified. He was already scared, but venturing into the unknown with his sanity disappearing was a little too traumatizing, as much as he wanted to escape.

And, secondly, Tommy. Newt hadn't given up on him yet. He could still pull through.

Gradually the boy had fallen into an endless cycle.

Sleep.

Stare at the ceiling.

Think.

Think some more.

Eat.

Stare at the ceiling again.

Think again.

And again.

Sleep.

After a while Newt lost track of the days. Frankly, he didn't care anymore. Knowing the days of the week wasn't exactly going to stop the Flare.

When the hour is nigh and hopelessness is sinking in, and all the wolves cry to fill the night with hollering. When your eyes are red and emptiness is all you know, with the darkness fed I will be your scarecrow.

The cycle was shattered by a crashing noise from the direction of the door.

Newt shot up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in time to see a group of people dressed in red enter the Berg.

Two men and a woman, baring weapons. His heart plummeted, and he immediately thought of his friends, desperately hoping that nothing had happened to them.

"What are you doing here?" One of the men asked suspiciously, peering around the Berg. "You weren't granted permission to land here."

Newt snorted. "How is that any of your business? The question is, what are YOU doing here?"

He watched with cocked ears as a woman with a brown ponytail nudged the man.

"He could be a Munie," she hissed.

Newt smiled bitterly at that comment. If only.

"Think of the money," the woman pressed.

Having already spent far too much time considered as a lab rat, as the critical glares of the men and woman raked over him, Newt resisted the urge to flinch.

"You! Come here!" the man snapped.

Newt looked at the floor, his mind racing, which, of course, started up the bloody itching again. "You sure you want me to do that?" He met the eyes of the woman. "I'm a Crank."

She laughed uneasily. "Nice try." At a snap of her fingers, the third man took a step closer.

It took every ounce of willpower for Newt not to back up.

The man whipped out a machine and held it up to Newt's eyes. After a beep he flipped it back to face him and read off the results.

He knew it was irrational, but some part of Newt hoped that maybe the Flare had all just been in his head, and that he was perfectly healthy.

The man leaped backwards.

Newt's heart sunk. Still a Crank.

"He's has the Flare," the man's voice shook.

The woman eyed him dismissively. "We're immune you idiot."

"I'm not!"

The woman brushed off this comment, facing the first man. "What do we do with him?"

Newt shifted, supporting his weight on his good leg. He had two options as far as he could tell.

Make a desperate bid for freedom, or-

"Take him to the Crank Palace," the man said shortly. "It's our civic duty to exterminate the threat of any beasts."

Newt swallowed, running his hand through his hair. The buggin' headaches were starting up again.

Being called a monster didn't help.

With a final blink, he had made up his mind.

You tell me to hold on. Oh, you tell me to hold on. But innocence is gone, and what was right is wrong. 'Cause I'm bleeding out, so if the last thing I do is bring you down, I'll bleed out for you.

"Can I at least leave a note? This Berg belongs to my friends. They're in the city and I don't want them to worry." The words were weary sounding, and once he had uttered them, Newt sat back down on the sofa.

His mind was made up. He was leaving.

This solved everything.

His friends didn't have to watch him go insane and try to kill them.

He didn't have to worry about hurting them.

At least with the other Cranks he would fit in.

He couldn't wait forever. He had to acknowledge the fact that Tommy had failed him.

Tommy had failed him.

The words sunk in, and a sense of betrayal gripped Newt, his eyes beginning to sting.

Tommy was a traitor.

A buggin' traitor.

"Hurry it up," the man snapped.

Choking down the lump in his throat, Newt grabbed the pen and paper and scrawled a note.

They got inside somehow. They're taking me to live with the other Cranks.

It's for the best. Thanks for being my friends.

Goodbye.

He placed the paper and pen back on the table before standing.

"Let's go," he said, facing the door. "I don't have all bloody day."

Newt walked out of the Berg, a numb and hollow feeling engulfing his senses, broken only by the itching of the growing Flare, and the footsteps of the woman leading the way and the two men behind him.

He didn't look back once.

So I bare my skin and I count my sins, and I close my eyes and I take it in. I'm bleeding out, I'm bleeding out for you.


	4. How to Save a Life

Had I Know How to Save a Life

If I owned the Maze Runner Theresa would still be alive. Song credit to the Fray. Previous notices withstanding.

Step one you say, we need to talk. He walks, you say sit down its just a talk.

He stared broodingly into the crackling fire, grasping his Launcher tightly. If he closed his eyes, for a moment he could pretend that he was back in the Glade with Minho and Alby, sitting around the fire with his friends.

Newt knew that he hadn't lost his sanity completely yet. There were still things to hold onto.

His sisters face. Her blue eyes. Minho's smirk. Tommy's-

He broke off mid-thought, gritting his teeth as his chest clenched.

Don't think about him, he told himself firmly.

The shuck traitor.

He tensed as he became aware of a small group of people drawing closer.

Speak of the devil, he thought humorlessly.

"I though I told you bloody shanks to get lost!" His voice echoed loud and clear throughout the bowling alley, attracting the attention of several onlookers.

He ignored them as he faced the group.

Of shuck course, he thought bitterly. Tommy, Minho, Brenda, and Jorge. The bloody dream team come to save the bloody crank.

"We need to talk to you," Minho said, advancing a couple of feet.

Newt recoiled. "Don't come any closer!"

Some sort of window to your right as he goes left and you stay right between the lines of fear and blame. You begin to wonder why you came.

He lowered his voice, but the poison lacing his tones was still tangible. He made sure of that.

"Those thugs brought me here for a reason. They thought I was a bloody Immune holed up in that shuck Berg." His expression darkened. "Imagine their surprise when they could tell I had the Flare eating my brain. Said they were doing their 'civic duty'," here he poured every ounce of spite into those two last words, "-when they dumped me into this rat hole."

He turned his back again, hiding the fact that his hands were beginning to shake.

The Flare was returning.

"Why do you think we're here, Newt?" a familiar voice began.

Tommy.

"I'm sorry you had to stay back and get caught. I'm sorry they brought you here. But we can break you out-it doesn't look like anyone gives a klunk who comes or goes."

Rage writhed in his mind as Newt turned around slowly, still bearing his Launcher. Anger flashed in the boy's eyes, and the hands gripping the Launcher were white.

Let him know that you know best. Because after you do know best. Try to slip past his defense without granting innocence.

"Whoa, there," Minho said, as he took a half step back.

That's right, Newt thought sadistically. Step away from the Crank.

"Slim it nice and calm," Minho protested. "There's no need to point a shuck Launcher at my face while we talk. Where'd you get that thing anyway?"

"I stole it," Newt snapped. "Took it from a guard who made me...unhappy." He began to shake more visibly, an itching filling the back of his mind.

"I'm...not well. Honestly, I appreciate you buggin' shanks coming for me. I mean it. But this is where it bloody ends. This is when you turn around and head for your Berg and fly away. Do you understand me?"

"No, Newt, I don't understand," Minho's voice escalated with frustration. "We risked our necks to come to this place and you're our friend and we're taking you home. You wanna whine and and cry while you go crazy, that's fine. But you're gonna do it with us, not with these Cranks."

Newt sprung to his feet, lifting the Launching at aiming it at Minho, fury coursing through his veins. Why did the shanks keep denying it? That wasn't going to make it true! "I am a Crank, Minho! I am a Crank! Why can't you get that through your bloody head? If you had the Flare and knew what you were about to go through, would you want your friends to stand around and watch? Huh?" By the time he finished he was shouting, his cheeks flushed and his body was shaking furiously. It killed him to say those words to Minho, killed him to see the look on his face.

Newt swung his glare on Tommy, heat scorching the air in front of him.

"And you, Tommy," he spat, lowering his voice. "You've got a lot of nerve coming here and asking me to leave with you. A lot of bloody nerve. The sight of you makes me sick."

Lay down a list of what is wrong, the things you've told him all along. Pray to God he hears you. And I pray to God he hears you.

"What are you talking about?" Tommy asked, no sign of recognition dawning on his features.

It dawned then, ever so slightly, that there was the possibility that Tommy hadn't read the note.

So though his glare didn't lessen, his words did. And all at once, the weapon was lowered and Newt's face softened.

"Newt, I still don't get it," Tommy was still insisting. Newt simply tuned him out, looking at the floor.

The only left to do was force them to leave, and the sooner the better.

He forced himself to calm down.

Don't let it show, he scolded. Put on an act. You've been doing it your whole life. One goodbye won't kill you. The itching was getting worse, but he forced it down.

He glanced up. "I'm sorry, guys. I'm sorry. But I need you to listen to me. I'm getting worse by the hour and I don't have many sane ones left."

He watched as they opened their mouths to argue, cutting them off and holding up his hands.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Keep it hidden.

"No! No more talking from you. Just...please. Please leave. I'm begging you. As sincerely as I've ever asked for anything in my life, I want you to do this for me. There's a group I met that are a lot like me," once he started the lies fell back into the familiar formation. His whole life was built on lies and frankly, he saw not reason to stop now. "-and they're planning to break out and head for Denver later today. I'm going with them."

He paused, swallowing. "I don't expect you to understand, but I can't be with you guys anymore. It's gonna be hard enough for me now, and it'll make it worse if I know you have to witness it. Or worst of all-" his voice threatened to tremble, but his eyes narrowed. Don't give in. "-If I hurt you. So let's say our bloody goodbyes and then you can promise to remember me from the good old days." Internally he snorted. What "good" old days?

As he begins to raise his voice you lower yours and grant him once last chance. Drive until you lose the road or break with the ones you followed.

"I can't do that," Minho was shaking his head. It hurt to look at him, and with a snap it all spilled over.

"Shuck it!" Newt yelled, his eyes stinging. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to be calm right now? I said my piece and I'm done. Now get out of here! Do you understand me? Get out of here!"

He broke off as a man grabbed Tommy and the two began to argue. He was about to intervene when pain shot through his skull. He doubled over, clutching his head.

It felt like someone was jabbing a knife into his brain, fierce and unrelenting.

The worst part was that he knew that once the pain had left him he would be that much closer to the Gone.

Please let me die, he pleaded silently as he released a tormented cry, tears streaming down his face. Please just let me die.

It paralyzed him again, and he rocked back and forth, immobilized by the agony of his own mind.

Newt took a shuddering breath, and braced himself for another wave just as it all lifted.

He wiped the tears from his eyes, hoping against hope that the others hasn't seen.

He needn't have worried. They were occupied in a wrestling match, one he knew could only end in his friends deaths.

"Stop it!" he yelled. "Stop it now!"

He will do one of two things. He will admit to everything. Or he'll say he's just not the same, and you begin to wonder why you came.

His eyes raged with fury, and he brandished his Launcher, loaded and ready. "Stop it or I'll start shooting and not give a buggin' piece of klunk who I hit."

His words made no impact.

Which left only action.

The putrid scent of ozone filled the air, and a whining noise pierced the room as he pulled the trigger.

It hit where'd he'd aimed it-one of the attackers, a greasy haired man with long hair.

Newt took a shuddering breath.

He was close to his breaking point. Again.

And worse yet? The itching had returned. Now he didn't even bother to restrain it. He was done fighting.

He was giving up.

"I told him to stop," he said quietly, almost to himself. Then, with one fluid motion, he spun the Launcher to face Minho, but it shook because his arms were.

Could he really shoot his friend?

That was a question he hoped he didn't have to find out.

"Now you guys leave. No more discussion, I'm sorry."

Minho held up his hands. "You're going to shoot me? Old pal?"

"Go," Newt said firmly. "I asked nicely. Now I'm telling. This is hard enough. Go."

"Newt, let's go outside..."

Panic rose. He was already scared of himself, and being scared of hurting the other Gladers was more then he thought he could handle. "Go!" he stepped closer and aimed more fiercely.

With that final motion he lost himself to the Flare. A crazed madness over took him, and his whole body trembled.

Tommy finally stepped back. "Let's go. Come on."

Minho looked like his heart had been shattered. "You can't be serious."

Tommy nodded.

Minho's shoulders slumped and his eyes slid to the floor. "How did the world get so shucked?"

Newt's chest constricted and the lingering tears behind his eyelids began to fall. "I'm sorry," he managed, tears streaming down his face. "I'm...I'm going to shoot you if you don't go. Now."

It was all Newt could do to stand there as Tommy and Jorge led Brenda and Minho away from him and out into the streets.

He continued staring after them long after their figures had disappeared.

Finally, he returned to his seat, laying the Launcher in his lap. The tears came thick and fast, and with every gasp for air he shuddered, wanting nothing more than to not be Newt. Not be himself. He closed his eyes, Minho's broken expression seared onto his lids.

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend somewhere along in the bitterness. And I would have stayed up with you all night had I known how to save a life.


	5. Breathe Me

Be my Friend and Breathe Me

If I owned The Maze Runner I would write a #newtbook. Song credit to Sia. The notices stay the same. :)

Help, I have done it again.

I have been here many times before.

"Just shut up, you shuck traitor! Didn't you read my note? You can't do one last, lousy thing for me? Gotta be the hero, like always? I hate you! I always hated you!"

The boy's eyes were glazed with anger, spittle flying from his mouth as the words tumbled out.

"Newt..."

He pushed on, ignoring Tommy. It wasn't bugging fair. Living hasn't been so great either. Why couldn't he understand that? Hiding who he bloody was, worrying about his sister, life had been a pile of klunk.

It was better just to end it.

Hurt myself again today.

And the worst part is there's no one else to blame.

"It was all your fault! You could've stopped them when the first Creators died! But no! You had to keep on going, try to save the world, be the hero. And you came to the maze and never stopped. All you care about is yourself! Admit it! Gotta be the one people remember, the one people worship! We should've thrown you down the Box hole!"

An itching grew in the back of his mind, he knew well enough now to recognize as the Flare eating away at his brain.

Commotion rang, but it was muted and distant, Newt keeping his glare on Tommy.

Ouch I have lost myself again.

Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found.

"I hate you, Tommy!" he spat, taking a step forward and fisting his hands. "I hate you I hate you I hate you!" The words were punctured with aggression, and he uttered each syllable with relief that he was finally able to say it all.

He was finally able to tell the shuck traitor how he felt.

"After all I did for you, after all the freaking klunk I went through in the bloody Maze, you can't do the one and the only thing I've ever asked you to do! I can't even look at your ugly shuck face!"

Yeah I think that I might break.

I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe.

He lunged forward, pinning Tommy to the ground and wrenching his arms into the dirt. "I should rip your eyes out," Newt growled. His vision was tinted, another sign of the growing insanity that only made him angrier. "Teach you a lesson in stupidity. Why'd you come over here? You expected a bloody hug? Huh? A nice sit-down to talk about the good old times in the Glade?"

A note of bitterness entered his voice.

The boy felt his eyes sting as he continued.

"You wanna know why I have this limp Tommy! Did I ever tell you? No, I don't think I did."

"What happened?"

A sick sense of vindication gripped Newt's crazed senses, a feeling that now, finally, Tommy would understand the hell he'd gone through.

"I tried to kill myself in the Maze. Climbed halfway up one of those bloody walls and jumped right off." Newt blinked as a tear streaked down his face. What a failure. He couldn't even kill himself properly.

It was something he'd never forget.

Alby screaming at the medjackets to "fix him up," make him "back to normal."

As if he'd ever be normal again.

So he'd laid there, closing his eyes as tears streamed down his face, nodding as Albu asked him if it was an accident, and not answering when Minho asked him what the shuck he'd thought he was doing.

Killing myself.

Trying to.

"Alby found me and dragged me back to the Glade before the Doors closed. I hated the place, Tommy. I hated every second of every day. An it was all...your...fault!"

He twisted and grabbed Tommy by the hand holding the gun, forcing it and pressing the pistol against his own forehead, his hand shaking.

"Now make amends! Kill me before I become one of those cannibal monsters! Kill me! I trusted you with the note! No one else! Now do it!"

Be my friend.

Hold me wrap me up.

"I can't, Newt, I can't."

"Make amends! Repent for what you did!" He dropped his voice to a harsh whisper, tears streaking down his face.

"Kill me, you shuck coward. Prove you can do the right thing. Put me out of my misery."

"Newt, maybe we can-"

"Shut up! Just shut up! I trusted you! Now do it!" His voice shook. He had failed before, if Tommy didn't help him pull the trigger, he knew he'd only fail again.

"I can't!"

"Do it!"

"I can't!"

"Kill me or I'll kill you. Kill me! Do it!" His panic rose, and he felt himself twitch.

"Newt..."

"Do it before I become one of them!"

"I..."

"KILL ME!"

His tones softened, and he felt his vision clear. The Flare was gone, but it would come back stronger until it overcame him, turning him into a monster.

He stared at his friend-he supposed Tommy was his friend, in the end.

And now he needed his help.

"Please, Tommy. Please."

Newt closed his eyes as Tommy pulled the trigger, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Unfold me I am small and needy.

Warm me up.

And breathe me.


End file.
